Book Club
by Doktor Girlfriend
Summary: "That's different!" he insisted in a startled sputter. "Ed is there..." He won't always be here, she wanted to say. And the sooner they learned to navigate each other in his absence, the easier this would be for all three of them.


Title: Book Club  
Author: Doktor Girlfriend  
Cast: Isabella Flynn, Oswald Cobblepot, Edward Nygma  
Relationships: Nygmobbella  
Rating: PG  
Contents/Warnings: AU. Fluff. Awkward polyamory. Minor emotional manipulation (Isabella is a tease). Dysfunctional but affectionate relationship. Implies an Oswald who is capable of being attracted to women.  
Summary: "That's _different_!" he insisted in a startled sputter. "Ed is there..." _He won't always be here_ , she wanted to say. And the sooner they learned to navigate each other in his absence, the easier this would be for all three of them.  
Disclaimer: _Gotham_ is the property of Bruno Heller, FOX, and DC Entertainment. This work of fiction is for transformative and entertainment purposes only.  
Notes: Short scene from an OT3 AU (that I'll probably also call "Book Club"), canon-divergent following episode 3x07. First attempt at _Gotham_ fanfic. Many thanks to Delena Hupp, ChirpyChickadee, and Peace Bros for their feedback and assurances that this actually made sense.

 **Book Club**

 **By Doktor Girlfriend**

"Where's Ed?"

"Running late," Isabella chirped, dropping the book from her view with a smile. "He said he'd bring home di-" Her voice cut off as she got a good look at Oswald standing at the other end of the couch - the pain etched in his brow, the heaviness in his eyes and shoulders, and the way he favored his bad leg more than usual.

She frowned, eyebrows pulling close in concern. "Long day?"

The smile he offered was weak but tinged with just enough bitterness to let her know at least three people had likely had their untimely deaths meticulously planned today. "Interminably."

She clucked her tongue sympathetically and beckoned with her free hand. "Sit with me. Get off that leg."

Her tone was light and breezy, but she trusted that by now he could pick up on the subtle variance in cadence that meant she expected and would accept no arguments, not even from the mayor. Not that Oswald seemed in any mood to offer one. Hobbling the last few, painful steps, he collapsed onto the far end of the couch with a heavy sigh, hands falling to his knee to try and massage some of the stiffness and pain from the mangled joint.

 _Poor thing_ , she thought with a soft rush of fondness, though it didn't stop her from immediately terminating his attempts to get comfortable with a disapproving hum. "No, not there."

He looked at her, face half-screwed into an irritated scowl, too tired to put his full bite into it. "You said-"

"I said..." She adjusted her back and shoulders against the armrest, sweeping her hand over her torso in presentation. The corner of her mouth pulled up in her prettiest smirk as she crooked her finger quickly at him. "Sit with me."

She tried not to grin too broadly or feel too satisfied by the deer-in-headlights panic that splashed over his face. Rarely did a librarian get to feel so much like an eighteen-wheeler.

"I..." Those saucer-wide eyes darted about the room, checking each corner for some distraction or escape. He wouldn't find any, seeing as she'd already sent Olga to bed. "Don't know..."

"Why not...?" She added a tilt of her head and just a touch of a heavy-lidded leer to her smirk. "It's not as if you've never-"

"That's _different_!" he insisted in a startled sputter, voice rising in pitch, a rewarding bloom of color in his cheeks, and, oh, she really did need to be nicer to the poor boy. Especially as he turned from her with that mortified frown, shoulders drawn up, brow furrowed, and voice dropped suddenly to a wounded, uncertain murmur. "Ed is there..."

 _He won't always be here_ , she wanted to say. And the sooner they learned to navigate each other in his absence, the easier this would be for all three of them.

Strange how much simpler this had actually been before, when it had felt so much harder - his heart breaking, hers sick and anxious with guilt. But they'd known their roles then, known their place in the story even as they'd come together to negotiate the progression of the plot, the entire narrative framework splintering and reassembling itself around their unexpected camaraderie.

Now the story had changed so much it was an entirely different genre, one neither of them were familiar with.

An intriguing one, though. After all, she loved a good story, no matter how unfamiliar the structure. And he was nothing if not adaptable.

"Ed will be home soon," she said instead. "In the meantime..." She softened her smile and slipped her arm out, palm up - an offer for him to accept rather than a command to follow. "Come on. You can read with me."

Oswald watched her, wary and weary, the war between his hard-learned distrust of anything and everyone and his exhaustion and constant, bone-deep desire for comfort playing out behind dark-rimmed, winter blue eyes. She saw the latter's ultimate victory in his resigned sigh and the release of a good half of the tension in his back as he began the journey across the couch with careful, halting movements.

It took longer than it should, several awkward and exact repositions, and a decorative pillow to support his leg, but he finally reclined against her chest, her arms loose around his middle and his ridiculous hair tickling her collarbone. And if it wasn't necessarily comfortable, it certainly didn't feel _bad_.

"So..." he ventured in effort to break the awkward, silent tension twining itself around them, the faint tremor in his voice belying his struggle not to bolt from her embrace, out of the house, and into the next area code. "What are you reading...?"

She'd have kissed the top of his head if she didn't think he'd have rolled straight to the floor.

" _Titus Andronicus_." She hadn't released the book from her right hand this entire time and flipped it up now into both their views. Thumbing a few pages back to the beginning of the act for his benefit, she indulged in the briefest, lightest nuzzle at his hair, grown softer as the product loosened its hold near the end of the day. "I think you'll like it..."

When Ed arrived home forty-three minutes later, overstuffed takeout bag of Chinese in hand, he found them there still, though Oswald had since turned in her arms, his head pillowed on her chest and his eyes shut to the world, finally succumbed to exhaustion. The book was forgotten, discarded pages across the back of the couch to save their place, and Isabella's hands now busied themselves massaging his tousled hair between her fingers and stroking a soothing rhythm along his spine as it rose and fell with the slow, even pace of his breathing.

Ed cleared his throat – a quiet laugh and a note of caution hidden in the sound – and Isabella tipped her head back to meet his bemused expression, smiling with open, impossible affection.

"He fell asleep before we even got to the cannibalism."


End file.
